


Losing Myself To You

by JeannyD123, N0_B0dy



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone is sad and confused, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Geralt has a sexuality crisis, Getting Together, Guard!Geralt, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscommunication, Past Abuse, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Smoking, Smut, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Violence, no magic, stripper!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeannyD123/pseuds/JeannyD123, https://archiveofourown.org/users/N0_B0dy/pseuds/N0_B0dy
Summary: When amber met blue, the world stopped. Endless untamed ocean surrounded the sun and drowned it with the force of a tide.When blue met amber, something changed. The light was so strong and blinding it illuminated the very darkest parts of the depth.(or a story where Geralt is a happy, supposedly straight man about to get married and his world is about to turn upside down when he meets a young stripper with captivating gaze and a dark past)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	1. The Succubus

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist for this chapter: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvQjtSSzC7rv8oIUR-0k_KvzeWr70u2Fe

A brisk autumn air spread the scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke around the three laughing men as they remained blissfully unaware of people frowning in their direction. They had much more important manners to do. Such as drinking and celebrating, that is, for in a few weeks, one of them was going to get married. Surely it doesn’t surprise anyone that it wasn’t going to be an ordinary wedding, no.

The man in the middle, Geralt Rivia, was going to marry Yennefer Vengerberg, CEO of the Vengerberg Industries, a rich and peculiar woman who built the company from naught but scratch. Friends of the groom-to-be, Lambert and Eskel, thought he needed a great deal of all the usual activities suited for a bachelor party, since they thought that Yennefer, excuse my language, was a tremendous bitch.

However, they knew Geralt most of his life and couldn’t help but notice his slightly masochistic tendencies in regards to his preferred type of woman. They knew better than trying to coax him out of the wedding and what more, they truly wanted him to be happy. God knows he deserved it. If he needed Yennefer to be happy, then so be it. That however doesn’t mean they cannot have fun at his bachelor party. So naturally, they reserved a private room in one of the most renowned stripclubs in their city, The Succubus. It was quite large, spreading across two floors, rooms changing and blending into each other, creating seemingly never-ending labyrinths of colors and music.

The bouncer let them in despite being quite tipsy. It wasn’t usual, but one, they had a reserved room, two, drunk guys paid way more than sober ones, and three, he trusted his senses. No one goes so long working as a bouncer in a stripclub without developing a sense of creep detection. These guys didn’t seem like assholes and they seemed kind of familiar, even. Right after he checked their reservation, a hostess escorted them to their room.

The place was filled to the brim with music, deep beats pulsing and flowing, bringing life to the club just like blood does to a human body. It wasn't like they were the only guests who wanted to enjoy the magic of the night to the fullest, far from it. On the way to their room, the hostess took them through a big lounge, which center was dominated by a glowing pole with a runway. The dancers owned the place, teasing the audience and enjoying every dollar people threw their way or stuck in their underwear if they had some.

Stumbling through countless colorful rooms, each with different lighting and vibe, they finally arrived at their designed location. Laughing, Eskel pointed at Geralt’s shoulder already covered in glitter despite not touching anything or anyone.

“Guess that shit just rains from the ceiling, huh,” Lambert chuckled, patting Geralt on the back. The aforementioned man explored the luxurious, albeit not spacious room carefully. As carefully as a drunk bachelor can, of course.

It was designed with precision, avoiding the traditional tacky look of cheap clubs. A private bar in the back was delicately hidden in the shadows as if not to steal the attention from the purpose of this establishment. Set against the walls were posh-looking sofas and tabourets. Probably where the lapdances took place, Eskel presumed.

However, neither the bar nor the seats near the walls were dominating the room. The most significant, major element was a circular stage with a pole, surrounded by fancy chairs. Geralt wondered just how much this had to cost his friends and shook his head. They could’ve just got drunk in their regular bar and be done with it. He didn’t need whores nor strippers.

Lambert seemed to sense his disapprovement and decided to show Geralt a good time, pushing him to sit down right in front of the stage. Mere second later, both of his friends took seats by bachelor’s sides, quite thrilled to enjoy the rest of the night.

“Hey, can we get the hottest chick here for my friend?” the shortest man shouted, slapping the grumpy bachelor on the shoulder. The barman quickly picked up his phone, texting some stripper or perhaps a manager of the club, who cares. All that mattered was that a pretty girl was finally coming to show them a good time and make Geralt forget about spending the rest of his life under Yennefer’s iron rule. Lambert shifted in his seat, trying to get as comfy as possible, and noticed his palm, covered in glitter. “Fuck man, this shit is truly everywhere.”

Not even a whole minute later, the most gorgeous, tall, olive-skinned woman walked inside the room on the highest high-heels the boys have ever seen in their entire lives. She was dressed in a rip-roaring, jeweled two-piece bodysuit and a feathered headband, clearly recreating the look of a brazilian dancer.

“So, who is the lucky boy today,” she asked in a husky, dreamy voice which made Eskel shiver a bit, not that he would ever admit it. He was a bit drunk and nervous, so instead of speaking, he pointed to the middle seat where the bachelor vehemently tried not to stare at her (rather magnificent) tits. The stripper lifted Geralt’s chin with her perfectly pointed index finger and patted him on the cheek.

“It’s all right, you can look.” She chuckled and batted her lashes in Eskels’ direction, ignoring Lambert just a little bit.

Without further ado, she gracefully climbed on the stage and nodded to the barman who apparently also took care of the dance music in the private room. Mere seconds later the room was bursting with an ambiguous, loud pop song with even more ambiguous lyrics. The dancer was certainly skilled, there was no doubt and apparently, she had a soft spot for Eskel. After the dance, she was gone as fast as she arrived and Lambert signaled the bartender for another round of shots.

They drank them and then drank some more as the strippers came and went. Tall, short, feminine, masculine, fully clothed, or nearly naked… The variety was astounding and Geralt once again wondered just how much this evening had to cost.

Suddenly Lambert stood up and announced he’s going to take a piss. The guys ignored him, but this time it was because of a gorgeous blonde who was currently spinning on the pole, looking as glorious as a person can upside down. Walking back from the loo the youngest of three friends had a little chit-chat with the bartender and came back with a tray full of shots and a shit-eating grin which honestly scared his friends a little.

Smiling Lambert always meant trouble.

Always.

Grinning, he crouched so he was now at face level with both of his friends. “Heya, fuckers. Did you know that they also have male strippers here?”

Eskel frowned. “What do you mean, male strippers?”

Lam rolled his eyes, poking his friend in the side.

“What do you think, dickhead? I mean men, ya know, generally people with dongs who just happen to be stripping in this club.” If his smile was wide before, now he looked like someone slit his face from ear to ear. “Aaand,” Lambert stood up and spun around, pointing to the bartender, “this guy promised to send their hottest guy right now.”

Chuckling, he bent down and grinned right in Geralt’s face. “So what, whitey hair, would you like some piece of a nice, male ass?” All three of them were too distracted to notice that the stripper was already in the room, walking to the stage.

“Thank you, the piece of a nice, male ass has already arrived.” Reactions of the three men captured their characters pretty accurately. Lambert grinned, Geralt facepalmed and Eskel offered the stripper a small, consolidating smile. Ever the marauder, Lambert had to poke the bear.

“Well then, get on the stage. Chop chop.” As if that wasn‘t enough, he clapped his hands twice, breaking the sudden silence.

The stripper was obviously used to this kind of teasing and made no fuss. He climbed on the stage, letting them eye his outfit fully. And oh boy, did he know how to dress. An opaque, almost see-through dark shirt, clearly meant for teasing his clients, was doing an excellent job. His pants seemed formal, but the seams revealed the velcro and his tie was the only real thing in his whole outfit. When he seemed to be ready, he waved in the bartender's direction as a signal to turn his music on, and without even looking at the boys he began to dance.

The guy was a young fellow, twenty at most with a lithe figure and brownish hair. The first minute was just him, fully clothed and looking at the pole like it was his long lost lover. Caressing the cold metal like a blushing cheek with unusual tenderness. Slowly walking, circling the steel and placing both of his hands on his lover's slim waist, whispering secrets for only the two of them to know. Eyes gently closed and eyelashes flickering like wings of Ulysses butterfly, savoring every moment with the feeling of the smooth metal against his hot palms as he slowly began to move his hips.

At first, Geralt thought the music was a bad choice, too slow for this kind of entertainment, but he was deeply mistaken. It was like looking at two lovers who have been apart for too long, slowly letting their desire for each other grow until it swallowed them fully. The white-haired man felt like he was looking at something private and shifted in his seat, feeling strangely uncomfortable.

Only then the music began to change. The beat was becoming more wild and sexy with a deep baritone to accompany it. Just like that, the dancer pulled away from his “lover,” like they meant nothing to him, changing his mind as only the weather does. But the pole kept calling for him to come back, to enjoy the heat of their burning out love for the last time. And just like that, he was there again, but this time with such vigor and flame glowing in his eyes that it felt almost unreal. Now fully determined to let his lover take control over him, he eyed his audience.

Lambert shifted forward, deeply intrigued, his eyes reflecting the flashing lights. Eskel enjoyed the show, watching the man on stage roll his hips seductively was certainly entertaining. Only Geralt's expression stayed the same from the start. This cold-ass mask he was so used to wearing didn't let anyone know what was hidden underneath. It was almost perfect, almost unreadable.

If it wasn't for those eyes.

Those amber-like eyes following the boy's every move.

Damn, he knew how to move better than most of the other strippers from the club. They were beautiful, sure, but the way he felt the music and let it move him was definitely unique. It seemed like he was born to be on the stage, being swept away by the rhythm. Watching him dance was just like watching an animal in the wild, purely instinctive and dare say even magical. Sliding on his knees across the stage, the young man kneeled in front of Geralt as he slowly began to unbutton his shirt. His lithe fingers slipped under the shirt, caressing his own chest, teasing his audience.

Eskel leaned back on his seat, still clearly enjoying the performance and not trying to hide it in the slightest. Lambert was intrigued too, but at least tried to look a bit distinct. Only Geralt faced the stripper with the same stone-cold face, revealing nothing and acting as unemotional as one could while facing a person seductively rubbing their nipples.

However, right then and there, right in his eyes, the cold mask began to break, slowly revealing pure hunger rising from inside.

The man on the stage was anything, but a fool. Even though his client had the best resting bitch face he’s seen in a long time, there was a certain something in his eyes that intrigued him to no end. They were enigmatic, hypnotizing, and simply marvelous.

Then the dancer dropped his shirt like it didn’t matter anymore and danced only in the loose tie and pants. His performance was by far the most dynamic one. Spinning around the pole, pulling his body up and dropping down into splits, doing dramatic spins which bordered on acrobatics, everything. It was like he was made to be on that stage and he knew it. At that point, Lambert thought ‘fuck it, the boy deserves it’ and started throwing bills on the stage. He never wanted to fuck a guy, but man, he would definitely bang that one if it ever came to that.

Confident, yet teasing, the stripper kept his clients on the edge and made them hunger for more. He knew how to play with them, that’s for sure. Some would maybe even call it manipulation, but it was a part of his job. Acting seductive, his performance was full of pure lust but somehow still classy. He slowly thrust his hips, rolled his body, his hands were slowly sliding down his torso…

… and ripping his pants off.

His whole audience gasped, but only the bachelor with golden eyes swallowed and licked his lips, leaning forward, wanting to be as close as possible. He dropped his mask completely, too captivated by the sight to care what his friends will think about him viewing the stripper like the most decadent pleasure.

He was now naked, wearing only tight black booty shorts that left very little to the imagination, and they did magic to his ass. The last few seconds of his performance were the fastest and the song ended with a dramatic silence.

For a while, nothing could be heard but heavy pants coming from a man beside the pole. He didn’t move instantly, standing still with his hands behind his head, making him seem even more skinny than he was, concaving his stomach a bit. His chest was rising rapidly, trying to catch his breath after such a wild performance. This time, he danced a bit faster, tried a little harder, and looked a bit more disheveled than usual. Maybe because it was his last performance that night, maybe because he got a tip from the bartender that they were drunk and loose with money, and maybe because of the astonishing white-haired stranger sitting in front of him.

He wasn’t even supposed to perform for them, but Larry, the bartender and manager for the private room texted him last minute, saying they wanted the hottest piece of man’s ass there was in the club. And the best ass in the club definitely belonged to him. Even though he was really tired, it’s not like he could afford to refuse. A serious need for money always won.

When the dancer finally moved, it was like watching a statue come to life. The previous confidence disappeared and his movements weren’t sure and bold as before. While dancing, he seemed like he was the largest object in the room, dragging all of the attention to himself. Now? Not a trace was left of his wild, fierce nature.

Geralt couldn’t believe this was the same man as the one from before. This one seemed so small and… vulnerable. Like all of his strength left his body right after the music stopped.

He offered them one last small smile as he bent down to pick up his clothes and the cash Lambert threw. The boys, even the bartender, were too dumbstruck to do pretty much anything, just sitting in their chairs and contemplating their sexuality. The stripper was almost out of the room when the bartender snapped out of it.

“Hey, pretty boy, wait. That guy,” Larry pointed to Lambert, “ordered a love shot.”

The young man chuckled, obviously snapping back in his role. The change was immediate. Suddenly standing straight, he spun around and walked with his head held high back to the chairs where the boys were. He threw his clothing and cash on the floor next to the chairs as if they meant nothing.

“So which one of you is going to get a little love from me, huh?” His words were as sweet as honey, rolling from his lips smoothly.

 _Fuck, his voice is perfect,_ Geralt thought. _Not too high, not too deep, and just a little bit raspy, but still managing to ring like a bell. Why the fuck did it seem that good?_

“How do they call you?” Eskel asked, totally ignoring his question.

“Let's say you can call me Jaskier.”

Eskel didn't even try to hide his drunken grin as he pointed at Geralt and repeated after the bartender. “Okay Jaskier, this guy ordered whatever it was.”

Geralt turned to face the dancer. Only now he’s properly seen his face, eyes framed by a black kohl pencil, making them stand out even more. And he was wearing lipstick. Nothing scandalous, but a bit of a red was certainly helping to define his lips. “I haven’t ordered shit.”

Lambert’s face did this funny thing that made him look like he’s seen something terribly scandalous. “Fuck you, man. I’ve already paid for it. You’re getting it whether you like it or not. Also, I really wanna see what it is, ‘cause I have no fucking idea. I’ve just seen it on the menu and thought ‘hey, this shit sounds fun’.”

Jaskier coughed, bringing their attention back on himself. “C’mon, guys. I asked who’s the shot for?” Lambert and Eskel simultaneously pointed towards Geralt, who glared daggers at both of them. The stripper cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders as if he was preparing for something physically taxing.

“Let’s do this, boys,” he said walking to the bar. “Larry, dear, be a sweetheart and make me a blowjob, will you?”

Larry just grinned and started pouring the coffee liqueur, Bailey’s, and topped it with a dollop of whipped cream.

“Would you be a doll and put there a bit more?” Jask turned around, leaning on the bar and licking his lips, knowing that all the boys were staring at him. “You know I’m a sucker for a good, thick cream.”

_What a tease. But he certainly knew how to work with his clients, that’s for sure._

Taking the finished shot, Jaskier walked back to where the boys sat.

“Will you hold this for me, honey?” He said, practically shoving the shooter in Eskel’ unsteady hands. Then he kneeled in front of Geralt, parting his legs slowly. The floor was hard, but not uncomfortable. The boy smiled seductively, winking as he moved his hands to unbuckle his client’s belt.

“No,” barked bachelor, surprising the whole room. Fingers on his buckle stilled. As to seem unaffected, the stripper shrugged and went straight for his fly.

_I should stop this. I should really stop this. There is no way in hell that letting a strange guy unzip my pants is okay. Why am I not stopping this? Fuck, he has nice hands. They are so slim and… hey, hey wait, what is he doing?!_

Just as Geralt was about to open his mouth to express his protest, Jaskier unceremoniously snatched the shot from Eskel and shoved it in his trousers, directly on his cock. “Hold still, handsome.”

Nobody, and I mean nobody, not even Geralt himself, expected him to stay still. Despite everything, that’s exactly what he did. The youngest man shifted, trying to get as comfortable as possible. His hands found their way behind his back, holding onto his forearms as if somebody tied him up.

Geralt shook his head, trying to purge an interesting image from his mind. Jaskier nuzzled against his thigh and gave him carefully trained puppy eyes look with the intent to reduce his client into a puddle. No one in the room, in the club, in the whole damn world hasn’t seen what Jaskier has.

The amber irises drowning in black, reduced to thin rings. Cheeks hinted with light pink that would be invisible if he hadn’t been so close. Parted lips and tongue which darted out to wet them, a sign of anticipation more than anything else.

But that was only the beginning.

Brain capacity of the bachelor was reduced to a babbling, wrecked mess when the man sitting between his legs finally decided to lean forward and do some action. He stopped right in front of the glass peeking from Geralt’s black jeans and his small, pinky tongue darted out. His eyes didn’t leave Geralt’s as he circled the shot glass with his tongue, slowly and teasingly, as if he would a cock. His client realized with a staggering surprise that the sight in front of him was anything but… uneventful.

He expected that the stripper would simply take the shot in his mouth and slurp it up, but no. This was a show to be enjoyed and savored slowly. He thought it would have no effect on him and that his friends would have their jolly good fun and move on, but this… this act was a whole different thing. It was sinful and delicious, and the guy was viewing him like he was the center of the attention, as if he was the only thing that mattered.

Jaskier lifted his head and Geralt thought that the whole thing was over, but no. The stripper raised his head a little bit and instead of chucking the shot, he opened his mouth once more and revealed the gentle pinkiness inside. His tongue darted out almost shyly as if he wasn’t doing the most sinful things with it mere seconds before. And just like that, he leaned forward and without breaking eye contact dipped his tongue in the glass and scooped the whipped cream. However, he didn’t swallow it immediately, no, that truly wasn’t his style.

He opened his mouth as much as he could, showing the little mound of whipped cream sitting atop of his tongue. Then and only then he swallowed, closing his eyes and sighing as if the cream was the best fucking thing in the world. Jaskier opened his mouth to show that there’s absolutely nothing left and winked. He fucking winked.

_Shit._

If Geralt felt mildly intrigued before, now he was absolutely, undeniably, totally fucked. With the last pieces of clarity he tried to at least look uninterested, but the way he clutched his thighs betrayed him. His knuckles were whiter than snow and he couldn’t feel his fingers for what seemed like an eternity.

Grinning, the young man on his knees finally took the glass between his lips and threw his head back, chucking the shooter. Lighting in the room accented the way his throat moved, swallowing the liquid, curving and looking so beautifully smooth. Geralt wondered what the skin there would taste like if he pressed his lips against it and immediately banished the thought. He most definitely didn’t want to do that.

Just like that, it was over. Still sitting on the floor, Jaskier reached out for his clothes when Lambert blurted out. “Do you also do a lapdance?”

The stripper grinned and showed them his teeth on full display. At first, his eyes settled on Lambert, because it was this foolish man who asked that daring question. The glee in Jaskier’s eyes was just like the one of a wild cat playing with prey before it gets eaten. But then his eyes met Geralt’s. It was that simple look, nothing more, maybe a little shift in the stripper’s grin, but Geralt already knew.

He is going to kill Lambert later if this man will not be the death of him.


	2. Impulse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist for this chapter: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvQjtSSzC7rtm34mj0QjxPwIKsEz5ic6v

Jaskier smelled more money coming his way. These guys certainly weren’t greedy, they basically showered him with cashback when he was on stage. And for a guy hot like that one … he would’ve done it for free, but alas, that’s not how things work. 

“I do if the money’s good.” 

Lambert’s smile appeared to be almost wolfish in its nature, wide and showing all of his teeth. He reached in his back pocket and showed the boy the bills. “Is this enough?“ The stripper nodded, to which Lambert turned to Geralt, poking him in the cheek. “So, what do you say? You into this?” 

No answer, just glaring. Oh, if only looks could kill Lambert would be a dead man. 

Eskel drunkenly pat his best friend on the head. “C’mmon Gerls, don’t be a cockblocker. Let the pretty boy dance.” The aforementioned dancer just rolled eyes with a smile tugging on his lips. 

“The name’s Jaskier.” 

The man with the scarred face spun around and pointed at him. Or rather in his general direction, alcohol threw his aim way off. “Jaskier! I knew it was something weird, but kinda nice.” 

As a stripper, he always had to ask the client if the lapdance was something they really wanted, but this time he had to make it special. Usually, he would ask point-blank ‘do you want this or not.’ However he really needed to pay his rent, so he decided to spice it up a little. Just to raise his chances, nothing more. 

Jaskier stood up and walked a few steps to the stage, swaying his ass and putting it on display. Making it all part of a bigger show. When his thighs pressed against the edge of the small platform, he spun around and slowly, with his back pressed against the stage, crouched. He spread his knees, revealing the semi see-through underwear that left nothing to the imagination. Now he was sure he got all of the attention the drunk men could muster. For a few seconds, everything went still, even the music seemed quieter and the lights shined brighter. 

_ Oh. This guy is really good. _

Carefully, like a predator on a hunt, the dancer leaned forward and put his hands on the ground, feeling the cold tiles and glitter sticking to his palms. Moving forward he looked like he was about to swallow Geralt alive, his eyes focused and determined. Right now the boys weren’t in charge, oh no. All the power was in his hands. It felt like an eternity and yet it ended too soon. 

He finally arrived in between his client’s knees, a place he was now familiar with. Sensing Geralt’s inner turmoil, Jaskier gently placed his own hands on top of his. There wasn’t an impenetrable fog of lust anymore, it was more of a soft curiosity. This stopped being about money or hunger and he knew it. He felt the change just like everyone in the room. The older man glared at him, trying to feign his disinterest, but Jaskier couldn't be fooled. Not when his breath was coming out in hot, fast pulses, warming his cheek. Slowly, almost glacially the stripper raised his head and leaned forward. 

“So, what’s it going to be, gorgeous?” The man in the chair shifted. If this guy was supposed to dance on his dick, he should at least know his name.

“It’s Geralt.” The boy smiled. It was his first real, genuine smile and it made Geralt feel like there was molten lead in his stomach. 

“That’s sad. Now I don’t get to call you gorgeous anymore … or do I?” Even if there wasn’t an obvious spark in the young man's eyes, you could still tell by his playful tone that he was just joking. He leaned forward even further, so close that his client could count every wrinkle, every freckle on his smooth skin.

Jaskier opened his mouth, his words coming out in husky little gasps, making him sound even more like pure lust. “What do you say, Geralt? Do you want this?” He made sure to whisper his name, emphasizing every syllable. 

The man in question couldn’t hold back his swallow and his throat bopped. What should he say? He was trying to convince himself that it was no big deal, just a stupid gig for his friends, but oh, both he and the dancer knew it wasn’t. A certain something flowed between the two of them, tying them together. 

Pulling them closer. 

He wouldn’t refuse, that much was clear, but the least Geralt could do was look uninterested. That's why he was stubbornly staring in front of himself, trying to look at the stripper as little as possible, but his sight was drawn to the young man just like a moth is drawn to the flame. Hot and burning yet dangerously beautiful, that's what he was. In the end, the only thing that came out of his mouth was a noncommittal grunt, so typical for him. 

Even though it wasn’t much, it was everything Jaskier needed. He grinned and stood up, leaning forward. Geralt’s breath hitched. It wouldn’t mean anything, just a drunken silliness. A part of him whispered he could blame the booze for his lack of judgment, but the other part knew it was a lie.

Jaskier stood up slowly, hands sliding up Geralt’s chest. His eyebrows jumped almost imperceptibly at the knots of well-defined muscles under his fingers and his hands stilled on the shoulders of the brooding man. After a moment of teasing silence, he raised one hand towards the bar and waved, obviously a signal. 

“Turn on my favorite.” Larry whistled and it made Geralt squirm in his chair a bit more since he was obviously getting special treatment. 

The room started to fill up with the sounds of deep, slow beats of the opening of Jaskier’s desired song. It was elegant and classy, but most importantly, it was undeniably sexy. The young dancer almost never danced to that song, despite it being his favorite one. He liked to save it for special occasions and apparently, this was one of them. Drawing out the moment, he nonchalantly circled his client. He stopped right behind the chair and pushed him a bit forward, leaving his two friends slightly behind. 

“Normally we’d go over there,” he said, pointing to the seats near walls, “but I think you’d rather just stay here. Am I right?” Of course his client just nodded. He was clearly the quiet, brooding type. This was meant to be for his enjoyment mainly, but that didn’t mean his friends would be left to rot. 

Lambert was just about to protest when Jaskier bent over the chair and put his entire ass on display. His face was nearing Geralt’s head, coming closer and closer until there was just a hair width between the two of them. The older man couldn’t possibly handle more of the tension, his knuckles white as they clutched on his thighs. Suddenly, there were lips touching his ear and a whispering hoarse voice. 

“You will enjoy this, trust me.” There weren’t many things the young man was confident about, but this was one of them. He knew how to make a good show. 

And just like that, the game was on.

It started off simple, yet promising. Jaskier grabbed the ears of the chair and began swaying his hips. Slowly, sensually, like he had all the time in the world, enjoying every sensual beat that filled the room. He almost resembled a pendulum, swinging hypnotizingly from side to side. 

Geralt was confused. Wasn’t the stripper supposed to touch him and dance? Or at least interact with him? The scandalously clad man was just standing behind him instead. He still hadn't touched him but had to be doing something, because he earned Lambert’s appreciative whistle and slow claps which he presumed came from Eskel. So he wasn’t dancing just for him. Geralt felt a tiny prick of jealousy and promptly tossed the thought aside.

Why should he be jealous of some random stripper dancing for his friends and not for him? It didn’t matter. He never wanted to go to a stripclub anyway. None of that stuff. The gruffy man suspected that Yennefer had played a certain part in it. That would also explain how his friends within the same pay grade as him could afford an evening like this. She probably told (ordered) them that they should take Geralt out and make him have at least a somewhat normal bachelor party. No party whatsoever could be totally normal when these three were present. 

Geralt’s thoughts came to a screeching halt when he felt the weight of two pleasantly warm palms settling on his shoulders, somehow calming his nerves. He was still curious, but now he at least knew where the bard was. His arms anchored his body, but they still moved slightly. So he really  _ was _ dancing for his friends. Without any warning the hands were sliding down his own arms, their grip firm, but soft at the same time. 

Jaskier wondered how would his client look shirtless because the firmness beneath his palms confirmed his suspicion that the guy has to be ripped as fuck. Sliding his hands up, he traced the ropes of muscles once again. He rarely enjoyed working with clients this much. When his fingers reached Geralt’s shoulders, the dancer pushed off almost hesitantly, but he didn’t stay away for long, oh no. 

Just like that, he spun around the chair, stopping right in front of his client, showing his lithe back. Geralt was hypnotized. The way the stripper caressed his rolling hips and slowly moved his hands further, over his stomach, shoulders and then raised them in the air, slowly curving his wrists … it was driving him mad. The movement of his arms was almost ceremonial, the strange waves they formed were oddly captivating. It reminded him of a cobra under the influence of a snake charmer’s flute. This man was born to perform, that much was obvious. He felt every beat, every tone made him move and his body shifted effortlessly. A twist in the rhythm made Jaskier spin around. He was still moving his body to the beat as he now faced Geralt, extending one of his hands towards him, caressing his throat and lifting his chin a little. 

Oh, he noticed the dangerous glint in those eyes and knew that his client lost all of his stubborn resistance. 

Now it was time for the good stuff. 

The dancer performed all the time, it was a routine for him. However, this was anything but. He felt a certain not entirely unpleasant tension. Heated looks from clients usually made him feel nothing, just plain cold professionalism, but when he looked at this man, he felt waves of lust and want that made him dance like it was his last time. So he poured every single skill that he possessed just to make sure that this man wouldn't take his eyes off him. Strange, golden eyes that were melting down his very soul. 

Now more confident in his moves than ever before, the dancer moved towards his client and slowly sat on his lap, facing away from him. He wasn’t sure he could continue dancing if he would see the amber orbs burning holes into his skin even for a second longer. Before he could think of a reason why, he started rolling his body. His back, shoulders, even his head. It was like watching a flawless machine. The moves were simple and calculated, but together they formed a symphony. 

A breathtaking beauty. 

Geralt swallowed as he watched the ropes of muscles underneath the pale skin move, contract, and release. He could  _ smell _ him now, feel the heat radiating from his body. When the younger man rolled his hips, he ground directly against his cock, clearly wanting to drive him crazy. 

Fuck, he wanted to take those hips and thrust against his ass, make him gasp. He imagined grabbing the delicate waist and dragging him on the stage, fucking him right then and there, for everyone to see. Nothing in the whole damn world mattered, not when this perfect creature, this living image of lust was in his lap, writhing and moving, making him desperate. Geralt doubted he could even remember his own name. 

Then he realized that the hands of the dancer weren’t in the air anymore or caressing his own chest. Now they were on  _ his  _ thighs sliding higher and higher. They almost touched his dick and then slid lower, to the insides of his knees, parting them, making space for Jaskier himself. He slowly dropped to his knees, still touching Geralt’s legs, sliding down his calves, when he bent his torso backward. His head was upside down and he could feel the rushing blood, redding his cheeks even more. 

Their eyes met and it was electric. Exciting and terrifying at the same time. The young man chuckled, recognizing the interest in the older man’s eyes and he thrived off of it. Suddenly, he was pushing away from him, using his legs as leverage. The dancer’s chest was almost touching the floor as he was slithering away, his ass still high in the air. Just like the most decadent feast. Geralt would rather die than admit it, but he was practically salivating at the sight. Two perfect globes just begging to be adored and fondled.

The performer turned around on the ground, now facing his client. He really knew how to move his body. He sat up almost lazily and leaned on his left side, smirking as he gradually began to raise his right leg, stopping just when it was so far up it nearly touched his head. Jaskier was obviously very flexible. There is no better word to describe his position, but lascivious. It showed exactly what his shorts were trying to hide. The way they clung to his skin defined his dick perfectly. The length, the way it slightly curved to the right, up until the delicate uncut skin covering his crown. The semi-see through underwear really didn’t hide much. Not that the audience complained. 

Jaskier moved like a snake: slowly but surely, with deadly confidence. When he was back on his feet, he walked forward to Geralt, hips swaying from left to right, captivating everyone in the room. His client snapped out of it when suddenly Jaskier lifted his leg and put his foot down in between Geralt’s parted legs, dangerously close to his cock, almost touching it. 

God. 

Lithe hands belonging to the dancer were caressing his own body, lazily running up and down his torso, his leg, neck, face and then they found a path in his hair, ruffling them even more. It was provoking to the point of madness. And then Jaskier moved away so suddenly Geralt had barely registered it. Mostly he just felt a pair of hands coming from behind his back sliding up and down his chest. How is it possible the guy was behind him so fast? Everything about that man, about his performance, was making Geralt incredibly dizzy. It was damn near impossible to focus on anything else but Jaskier and his touches. Or maybe it was the alcohol pulsing in his veins. Probably the combination of both. 

That didn’t change the fact that the hot breath brushing his neck and the hands sliding up his chest and brushing his nipples were driving him absolutely crazy. The air around them was so thick it was almost impossible to breathe and the strangest thing was that neither of those two minded. Because in the end, is there any more beautiful way to die than to choke on passion? 

Geralt jumped a little in his chair when he felt the pressure of soft lips and then the wetness of tongue sliding down his neck. No one could see it, Jaskier’s back shielded them from his friends and his face was hidden against the older man’s neck. It was like their dirty little secret, something only the two of them shared. 

Jaskier felt terrified by his own actions. Why the fuck did he lick him?! It was only a metaphorical question, of course. He knew very well that he did it because this incredible man was so close, his cheek was touching his soft, snow-white hair, and his smell so undeniably good that he couldn’t stop himself. He  _ had _ to taste him. The kiss he pressed against the hot skin was dirty and wet, and not at all professional. They were very well past that. But he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t feel the strange pull and neither the heat pooling in his stomach. This was his client, for fuck’s sake. Someone whose friends made him get a lapdance. It’s not like he really wanted it. 

The only thing that calmed his beating heart was the knowledge that Geralt didn’t stir or lean away. The man stayed absolutely, perfectly still in his seat so Jaskier continued drawing eights with his hips, further entrancing the boys behind him and hearing them cheer. He smiled when he felt the gentle tickling of soft paper against his back for a second. Clearly, the guys were making the money rain again. He’d be lying if somewhere deep down he didn’t feel a little carnal satisfaction when this perfect man sitting below him didn’t flinch when he pressed his lips against his skin. But he couldn’t stay with his face between the man's neck and shoulder forever, he needed to move.

The stripper knew the song was nearing its end and like every good performer, he knew that the ending had to be the best. It was what earned you the best money after all. If you offered all of your tricks in the beginning, the clients would automatically expect something bigger, better, simply something more. And if they didn’t get it, they were disappointed, which meant less money and since they wouldn't be coming back, less work in the future. 

Jaskier learned pretty quickly to keep all of his tricks and treats for the very end of his performances, whether it being an ordinary show or lapdances. This lapdance, despite the glorious white-haired man, was in that regard no different. Without further ado, Jaskier straightened his back, already missing the man’s warmth and smell. The beat got faster, more primal, one could say and that was Jaskier’s signal. He spun around the chair for the last time. This move was perfectly practiced, he didn’t even need to stop. When his back was turned against the side of the chair, he used the momentum as he lifted his right leg to overstep the man's legs and he fell right into his lap. Not wasting another second, his lithe hands circled the man’s neck and he began thrusting with his pelvis, grinding like he was born for it. It was deep and animalistic, Jaskier almost forgot where he was,  _ who _ he was. 

Everything around him was blurred and a strange voice inside of him whispered that as long as he kept touching that man, everything would be okay. Every sense Jaskier possessed focused on the stranger in front of him. His intoxicating warmth, his spicy smell, the way threads of his torn jeans were brushing and tickling Jaskier’s skin, his fast little exhales warming his cheek, and mostly, his thick cock rubbing against his own. 

_ Oh _ . 

Their thrusts were getting more and more aggressive, gaining speed and strength along with the crescendo, stopping at nothing until finally, the song reached its peak with one last dramatic hit of the drums. 

One could hear a pin drop.

Nothing in the room was louder than the breaths of the two riled up men sitting on top of each other. The world around them stopped existing for a moment. Geralt was absolutely hypnotized. Blue and amber moved together in a dangerous dance of unexpected lust and hidden questions no one was ready to answer. It almost felt like a sun drowning in an endless ocean. 

Both of them were too afraid to move, worried that even the smallest movement would break the captivating spell surrounding them. Only their chests were rising rapidly and it seemed like there wasn’t enough oxygen, so they kept stealing each other's breath, hot and thick.

“Son of a bitch, you slept through half of it!” Lamber shouted loudly, trying his best to slap Eskel but failing miserably. Rather than hitting the more or less sleeping man, his hand connected with the soft fabric of the chair. 

The scarred man woke up and opened his eyes, trying to drive away Lambert’s hand just like he would an annoying fly. “Fuck off, I’ve no idea who my mother is and neither do you, s’ how could you know if she’s a bitch,” Eskel slurred. 

And just like that, the moment Geralt and Jaskier shared was over as the weight of reality nearly crushed them. Realization that they couldn’t stop the world left nothing but bitter taste in their mouth. Geralt almost leaned forward, wanting to wash away the aftertaste of disappointment with the flavor of Jaskier’s mouth but sadly, he was trained well enough to control any and all of his impulses. In the end, his job required it every day. Nothing would reveal the momentary failure of self-control if not for the subtle raise of his chin, just a few millimeters up, but it was enough for the stripper to notice. 

He grinned. 

Jaskier learned very early that erections meant nothing and even less than that. It was nothing but a body doing what the body was supposed to, a mere physiological reaction. The guy would get hard whether it was a hot stripper grinding on his lap or his own grandma. Bad image, good explanation. However, that thing, the way he raised his chin and leaned a bit forward, trying to get closer, that was what truly convinced Jaskier that his client was properly entertained. 

“It seems like you’ve enjoyed my performance.” 

Geralt was lost. Judging the way the dancer grinned, it was already very obvious that he truly did enjoy the performance and so there was no point in lying. Instead, he let out one indifferent grunt, trying to look casual. He didn’t know whether he was trying to lie to the stripper, his friends, or himself. Jaskier was satisfied with his show, so without another word he stood up and started collecting fallen bills from the floor. 

Geralt wanted to move, he really did. He wanted to stand up, tip the bartender, and get out, but for the love of anything that’s holy, he couldn’t move his limbs. It felt like his legs were made from jelly and even raising his arms was difficult. That and also his raging, very visible boner would make the situation rather awkward if he just stood up. For fuck’s sake, his pants were killing him. He moved to adjust his cock when a strange hand landed on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Gerls...” 

_ Shit, it’s Lambert.  _

The sitting man wondered whether or not could Lambert see his boner and prayed to whichever higher entity that the answer to his question would be no. Otherwise, he would never hear the end of it and being teased by his best friend for the rest of his life didn’t sound exactly pleasant. 

“Geeeerls…” 

Geralt let out a noncommittal grunt so typical for him and tried not to stare at the marvelous piece of an ass belonging to the dancer. “What?” 

Lambert raised his arms and showed his best friend both of his palms covered in glitter. He slowly moved his hands from side to side, mesmerized by the way the shimmery flakes reflected light. “This shit is so shiny I can see my future in it.” 

“You’re drunk as fuck,” Geralt stated unemotionally, to which Lambert just chuckled and grabbed him by his face, massaging the glitter into his stubble. To say that his friend was unimpressed was an understatement. 

“Maybe I am, big boy, but so are you.” The younger of his friends mumbled and yes, that was true. The bachelor could feel the pleasant buzz and warmth flowing in his veins, making him dizzy. Only the passion and confusion he felt earlier made him sober up a bit.

Jaskier kept picking up the scattered bills, trying to hear what the boys were talking about, letting curiosity get the best of him. Did they really like what he did? The way he moved? More importantly, did the white-haired man like it? Geralt, that was his name, the dancer remembered. It suited him. Strange name for even a stranger man. But he wasn’t the one to judge exotic names, having picked ‘Jaskier’ for himself. Fuck, he hated the fact that a client made him feel something else than pure professional curiosity. It never brought anything else, but trouble. 

After he was done picking up the cash, he straightened his back and turned around to face the redhead. He was careful to keep up the facade of confidence as he walked towards him. “What about you, pretty boy? Any feedback?”

Lambert just stood there gaping with his mouth open. He hadn’t expected any social interaction from anyone else than his friends, so he struggled to find the right words. “You were good, but I bet I would be better.” 

Jaskier snorted.

“I think you had too much to drink. And judging by your friend there,” he said, pointing to Eskel who was fully asleep again, somehow sitting on the floor with his head resting on the seat, “you truly did.” 

Lambert spun around as he started shouting profanities at the sleeping man and so Jaskier figured out that Geralt was definitely the most sober one out of them. When he was about to open his mouth, Geralt thought that the boyish man was way too confident for someone who was wearing just opaque underwear. 

“I hope you enjoyed the show. I really do,” Jaskier started fidgeting with the bunch of cash he clutched in his fists, “but we should’ve closed down by now. We aren’t kicking you out, but you should get going soon.“ He seemed so much smaller now when he was telling them to go. Mere seconds before he looked like he owned the world. 

Geralt thought it’s probably because the dancer was used to assholes causing problems, but the truth was Jaskier was anxious for a whole different reason. Most of his clients weren’t regulars, so he decided to use as much time he got left and took a seat at the bar, observing Geralt’s every move. The man moved slowly but surely and with astounding confidence, which was surprising, considering how much he drank that night. 

Interesting. 

He looked totally in control even when partying, so Jaskier presumed that was also the way he was in real life. He couldn’t help but laugh (and managed to snort quite loudly) when the two friends bent down to pick up their sleeping buddy only to have him slip out of their arms and fall to the ground face down. One would think it would be enough to wake up the gentle giant, but no. He was still sleeping like the dead. Finally, they had the man on his feet as each of them grabbed him by the arm and started to haul him across the room, trying to get to the door. 

Geralt was about to walk through, pushing Eskel in front of him, but he couldn’t deny himself one last look in the direction of the stripper. Amber dipped into blue once again. For Jaskier, it felt like a gentle caress when he felt the man’s eyes flicking all over his body and for a moment, he didn’t feel self-conscious or bad about himself. Instead, he felt interesting, maybe even desired. Not in the usual way his clients do, no. He felt more like he was desired as a person, as someone worth looking at for more than just a few seconds. It was a strange feeling, but pleasant. It stirred something inside of him, something he thought would continue to hibernate for the rest of his days. 

As always, Geralt didn’t know what to say. This time it wasn’t even his fault, because what would even a “normal” person say in that kind of situation? Hey, thanks for grinding on my dick, now I might have a sexuality crisis? No, that probably wouldn’t sound good, so he settled on a half-hearted wave as he walked through the door. 

At last, the boys found their way out of the maze that called itself The Succubus and they slipped into the night. The cold air surrounding them at least partially woke Eskel up. He sounded quite disappointed that they left the club already. They called him a cab and after having quite a few troubles with stuffing him in, they decided it would be best if Lambert just saw him off. 

Usually, Geralt would also take a cab home, but not that night. He needed the walk to clean out his mind. The echoing steps accompanied his conflicting thoughts and sooner than he would’ve thought, he was standing on his doorstep. Unlocking the door, the groom-to-be felt strange warmth spreading in his chest when he thought about the raven-haired woman sleeping in the bedroom. 

He loved her, her fierce eyes and a great mind. Deciding that waking her up would do neither of them any good, Geralt just took off his jacket and shoes, washed himself, and went to sleep on the couch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JeannyD123: Hey guys! Thanks for reading. Please leave us kudos or a comment <3
> 
> N0_B0dy: This was a bit tensed ... The night is over but the story begins! Don't be afraid to leave a comment, it keeps authors writing!

**Author's Note:**

> JeannyD123: Hey guys! I hope you will like this and that you'll stay with us on this journey until the very end. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. 
> 
> N0_B0dy: Hello there! The second author here. Hope you will find this a little bit refreshing. I'm proud of this child of ours and what it hopefully will become. Don't be afraid to leave a comment, it keeps authors writing!


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